


hero worship

by gubiegubes, laskofresho



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Abuse, Coercion, Grooming, Illustrated, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Manipulation, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 22:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12285978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gubiegubes/pseuds/gubiegubes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/laskofresho/pseuds/laskofresho
Summary: “Nobody ever tells you how special you are, do they?”





	hero worship

**Author's Note:**

> illustrations by [plumbasss](https://twitter.com/plumbasss)
> 
> text by [gubiegubes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gubiegubes/pseuds/gubiegubes) & [laskofresho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laskofresho/pseuds/laskofresho)

Morty doesn’t turn to watch the back of Rick’s bathrobe disappear through the portal.

He curls into himself under the blanket, glaring at a spot in the wall. As if it’s not bad enough to find out his heroes have been adventuring without him, Rick manages to confirm the fact that there’s just nobody on his side. He doesn’t give a shit if it’s Morty’s tenth adventure or his hundredth, their thousandth. It makes Morty angry, but also just really fucking miserable.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been glaring when he hears the pressurized release of the door to their room. Boots click on the floor, before he hears a voice. “You heading to bed already? Responsible kid.”

Morty sits up, flicking on the light switch at the headboard. “Vance?”

Vance grins at him. He’s still decked out in armor, like he never takes it off, like he’s always ready to fly off the base at the first sign of duress. Morty hugs his knees to his chest, embarrassed at just being in pajamas.

“I’ll leave if you’re trying to sleep,” Vance says, holding up his hand, “It’s pretty important for a young, growing boy like yourself.”

“Oh, n-no, it’s cool,” says Morty, trying to play it off. He’s a little weirded out at Vance just coming in like that, but they _are_ guests after all. He smiles a little, scratching the back of his head. “I can stay up for awhile.”

Vance walks into the room like he owns the place, and Morty supposes that he technically does. Glancing around at the paltry few objects they’ve brought with them, he takes a seat at the foot of Morty’s bed. Morty leans back on his hands, trying to be casual, crossing his legs ahead of him. He kicks back the blanket, trying not to feel so lame about being tucked into bed like a little kid.

“You’re just here alone?”

“Oh… yeah,” says Morty. He knows the disappointment is audible in his voice. He can tell because Vance is suddenly looking at him _that way_ , the same way Mom does sometimes, or the teachers at school. “My grandpa, um, well he couldn’t— he c-couldn’t sleep.”

There’s a part of him that wants to throw Rick under the bus. That wants to say his grandpa’s probably gone off to get loaded, or something even worse. He can’t bring himself to say it out loud. Even though he’s upset at Rick, it would just be humiliating for someone like Vance to know the full extent of it. So he just stays quiet, awkwardly picking at a piece of imaginary lint to try to distract himself from Vance’s knowing look.

“He leave you alone a lot?”

“Sometimes. I can take care of myself, though.”

“Yeah, I know, Morty,” says Vance. He reaches over and pats him on the shoulder in a friendly manner, his hand lingering. It makes Morty feel a little better. “You’ve really grown a lot since I’ve seen you last, you know that?”

Morty looks up, hopeful. “R-really?”

“Yeah, kid. Really. Now that it’s just the two of us, Morty, I can tell you that I always liked you. I never forgot about you.” He smiles, turning his head away to run a hand through his hair. He offers Morty a rakish grin. “Just— kind of hard to get you alone, you know?”

“J-Jeez, Vance, really?” says Morty. He knows he must be looking at Vance in that embarrassingly naked way that Rick always teases him about, but he just can’t help it. He’s never had one of his heroes, hell, _anyone_ tell him he was worth remembering.

“Yeah, Morty, I—” He breathes in, turning to look at him. His hand slips down from Morty’s shoulder to his knee, his palm hot through the fabric of Morty’s pajamas. “I’ve always thought about getting you alone.”

“I didn’t realize I mattered so much to the team, haha,” says Morty. He means it. His heart is beating hard in his chest, and he’s soaking up every word of praise. With Rick it doesn’t feel like he’s a member of a team, more of a tag-a-long. “But it means a lot...”

“Nobody ever tells you how special you are, do they?”

Morty’s face falls. He looks down. Vance’s thumb rubs over the crest of his knee in a soothing manner. It reminds him of when his dad used to rub his back when he didn’t feel good, but Dad isn’t there anymore.

The hand slips from his knee, moves up to cup the muscle of his thigh. Vance squeezes his fingers, then slides it further up, until his thumb is just edging the crotch of his pants. Morty’s skin tingles all the way up his leg, to the base of his spine, sweat starting under his arms. He reaches down without thinking, setting his hand over Vance’s to stop him from moving it further.

“Um, I’m s-sorry, I don’t…” Morty says, his face going hot. “Sorry.”

Vance pulls his hands away, and turns his body to fully face Morty. His kind expression has melted away into one of concern, his brows knitting.

“Whoa, now, buddy. You _do_ want to be a member of the Vindicators, right?” Vance asks. “That hesitation makes me think you aren’t committed to the cause.”

He reaches forward again, with both hands, sliding up Morty’s inner legs. Morty wants to snap his knees together, force the hands away, but it feels good. He hasn’t had anyone touch him like this, and it’s _Vance_. Vance is a hero. He would never hurt him. He’s not like Rick.

“I-I-I don’t know,” Morty says, as Vance’s thumbs press into his inner thighs a little harder, “I don’t know if this is what the ‘cause’ means…”

“How can you know what the cause is about, Morty? You weren’t even here for Vindicators 2. You don’t want to miss out on that again, do you?”

“No, I-I guess not… um,” Morty says, his voice cracking, “Vance, y-you’re like, really close...”

“That’s the problem with always saving the world, kid.” Vance’s face is so close, his eyes so intense. “Makes it hard to _get_ close— people always, know, want to rely on you but I know you’re capable, Morty. You have what it takes to be one of us... and I want to be close to you Morty. I want you to know your worth— you just have to show me...”

Vance’s hands finally move higher to frame the bones of his skinny hips, massaging at the line of his waist. Morty’s hands shoot out to hold Vance’s shoulders, trying to keep him at bay, trying to find something to ground himself with. He looks down at his lap, and his body is reacting to the touch already. He goes hot with embarrassment. Rick would tease him for being so eager.

“I— I don’t know... um... my— R-Rick should be back soon.”

Vance chuckles. “Are you kidding me? Your grandpa’s probably passed out somewhere in a puddle of his own urine right now. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone... he drags you down, Morty. And you know _I_ can fly, don’t you?”

One hand raises up to his neck, cupping the delicate line of his throat. Morty swallows, feeling Vance’s thumb rubbing against his pulse. His hands are broad, not old and gnarled like Rick’s. His touch isn’t forceful, isn’t threatening. Morty wants to feel reassured but he doesn’t, for some reason.

“I care,” Vance says, “ _I_ care about you, Morty. I can help you. Don’t you think that counts for something?”

Morty’s face is already hot, but it gets hotter at that. Vance Maximus, Renegade Starsoldier, cares about Morty. Morty, who’s just... just Morty, just one of an infinite number of Mortys. Vance’s gloved thumb is cool against his skin. He swallows, feeling so stupid. “I... I don’t get it.”

Vance chuckles. His hand slides up to Morty’s chin, tipping his head back. “And _that_ is why you’re a perfect fit, kid.”

Looking up at him, Morty trembles. A perfect fit. He’s never _fit_ anywhere. He breathes, his heart aching, and he doesn’t expect it when Vance leans forward and kisses him.

His lips are thin and his stubble is sharp against Morty’s mouth. _That’s what a real man feels like_ , Morty thinks distantly for a moment, like he’s observing it from somewhere outside himself. He thinks about what Rick would say if he saw them, if it’s even something to be smug about, which snaps him back. He tries to pull away.

“Come on, Morty, don’t be like that,” says Vance. The grip on his chin goes painful, before he’s dragging Morty onto his lap. Despite his hesitation, Morty goes like deadweight, used to being dragged around like a doll, and Vance is just so _strong._ “Vindicators don’t give up on their mission.”

Vance’s chest is broad and his arms are thick with hard, corded muscle. It’s nothing like when Rick holds him, if he could even call it that, when he grabs Morty close to shield him from gunfire.

”Vance,” he says. The unease in his stomach unfurls and spreads up to his throat, so thick and overwhelming he almost chokes. He stares at Vance’s mouth, the handsome slant of it, his words leaving him. His mind is so confused, but his body is reacting, and he doesn’t hate being kissed.

Gazing down at him, Vance sighs, his hand brushing back Morty’s hair off his temple.

“God, look at you.” He leans in again, and this time, Morty closes his eyes when Vance kisses him.

He hasn’t had much practice, so he lets Vance lead it. Even the way he kisses is masculine; gentle, but powerful at the same time. His stubble drags against his skin, and Morty hesitantly reaches up to touch his face.

Vance makes an affirming, encouraging noise at that. It makes Morty’s heart skip, and he brushes his fingers over Vance’s jaw. It’s sculpted, so much sharper than Morty’s. Knowing how much younger, how much more inexperienced he is makes him self-conscious, and Morty leans back. Vance doesn’t let him break the kiss, chasing him, little noises coming out of his mouth that Morty’s too embarrassed to replicate.

“You’re doing great, kid,” Vance breathes into his mouth in between kisses, slipping his tongue in before Morty can respond. He lets go of Morty’s hair and slides his hand down Morty’s back, fingers slipping under Morty’s shirt. The buttons in the front stretch as he does it. His other hand returns to where it was before, his palm over Morty’s hipbone. “I can tell you like it, too.”

Morty doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know if he likes it, not _really_. His body likes it, that’s for sure, and Vance is handsome, almost unbearably so. Morty tries to imagine one of the heroes in his comic books doing something like this to him, trying to find a foundation for himself. He fails, at a loss as Vance finally palms his dick over his bottoms. Morty jerks forward.

“See?” Vance says, and chuckles low in his throat, so pleased about it. “Your face says it all.”

“I— I can’t see my own face,” Morty replies, dumbly. He instantly feels stupid, but Vance just chuckles.

“Well, I can.” He pushes his thigh up against Morty’s crotch, his hand urging him to move. “Come on, it’s okay. That feels good, doesn’t it?”

It does feel good. Swallowing, Morty looks downward between them, where he’s rubbing his erection against Vance’s leg. He feels so solid beneath him, and when he rocks forward he can feel that Vance is hard, too. “J-Jeez… wow.”

He barely even registers Vance reaching forward to start to unbutton the shirt of his pajamas. It’s only when he’s pushing it down his shoulders does he stop moving, but Vance makes a low noise in protest.

“No, no, keep going, kid.” Vance is palming his chest, a thumb brushing his nipple as his hands wander.

Morty can’t help but moan, rubbing himself off against Vance’s thigh. It feels childish, he wishes that Vance would just tell him what to do, but Vance is leaning down to mouth the line of his shoulder. Hands grip at his ass, and Morty almost squeaks, as he’s pressed tight against Vance’s body.

“God, you’re so small,” Vance mutters, biting the tip of his shoulder. He presses a kiss there quickly, and Morty _feels_ small as a big hand covers the center of his chest, pushing him down, down onto the bed. He tries to curl in on himself before Vance is looming over him, pinning him with the weight of his body.

“Vance, I’m not— I don’t know—”

“It’s okay, kid,” says Vance, leaning down over him. “You can trust me.”

Can he? Morty doesn’t know who to trust, these days. Vance is a hero, he should know what’s good for him, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s not allowed to do this. Rick would be upset. That tiny niggling feeling of guilt eats at his insides, Vance’s mouth finding his own.

For awhile they just kiss. It’s nice. Morty feels like he can relax a little, so he starts tentatively touching Vance’s face, his neck. He’s still a little scared that Rick is going to come back, but he wonders if he’d be upset. If he’d throw Vance back, and be worried for him. Maybe he’d just laugh. He finds his mind wandering, until Vance sits back and starts taking off his own clothing.

“W-wait—”

“Calm down,” Vance says, shrugging off his vest and tossing it onto the nightstand in between Morty and Rick’s beds. He presses a button and the plates of armor on his chest separate with a hiss. He pauses for a moment, like he’s waiting for Morty to take it in.

“Jeez,” Morty says, unthinking. “That’s—that’s like in the movies.”

“It’s better than the movies,” Vance says, removing the gauntlets on his arms. He drops them on the ground, though gently, and the sound is thick and mechanical. Morty reminds himself of the lasers mounted on top of them. “You wanna try?”

“T-try what?” Morty asks, and Vance gestures to the armor on his chest. He clicks it back together, then shows Morty where the tiny button-latch combination is, underneath his right armpit. Morty presses and pulls and the chestpiece releases again, instantly. “Wow.”

“You could have something like this,” Vance murmurs. His face is close again, and he kisses Morty behind his ear. “Someday.”

“Really?” Morty asks, clearing his throat because he sounds way too excited. “I-I mean, you think—you think the Vindicators would give me armor?”

“I dunno about the Vindicators,” Vance says. He takes Morty’s hand so it’s over his chest, his skin hot through the fabric that remains. Morty can see where his muscles catch the light, and Vance squeezes his hand until Morty squeezes his pec. “Maybe you can be _my_ sidekick…”

“Huh?” Morty almost wheezes, “ _Me?_ ”

“Yeah, you, Morty.”

Morty frowns. “I don’t know if Rick would be okay with that.”

Vance’s grip goes tighter on his wrist, and Morty sharply inhales. “Well, your grandpa’s not here right now, sport. Doesn’t really matter what he thinks.”

“I— I guess.”

He’s not even really sure if Rick thinks of him as a sidekick. More like baggage to drag around, probably. Morty leans back as Vance removes the last of his metal armor, feeling a little excited as more of his body is revealed, still encased in that skintight black undersuit. His eyes wander up to Vance’s face, where his expression is serious, but he’s not looking back at Morty’s face. Vance’s hands slip down his chest, to the waistband of Morty’s pajamas, slipping inside.

His dick twitches as Vance’s fingers graze the soft skin of his lower belly, and his stomach curves inwards as Vance starts to drag the bottoms down. He opens his mouth to protest, but the words die in his throat as Vance cups his erection through his underwear, under his pants, pressing his palm down. “O-ooh… holy shit…”

“Just relax, Morty. I’m gonna make you feel good.”

It does feel good. For awhile, Vance just massages him through his underwear, until the front is soaked through with precum. Morty leans back on his hands, his mouth hanging open as he pants, his eyes tightly closed in pleasure. Eventually Vance slips his hand back out, hooking his fingers into the waistband. This time, Morty lifts his hips to help get them off.

He’s naked, now. He feels skinny and weird in front of Vance, so broad-shouldered and tall. He lays back onto his elbows, feeling the need to cover himself, but only resisting because Vance is looking at him with interest so openly. He’s never had that kind of attention before, and Morty soaks it up like a sponge.

Vance’s fingers trail down his stomach, before curling around his dick. Morty tenses up, his toes flexing at the touch. “Vance,” he mumbles, reaching for him.

“Feel good?” Vance asks, his hand starting as Morty moves.

“Uh-huh,” Morty says, or just breathes, he’s not sure. He wraps his arms around Vance’s neck and leans into him, face pressed into his undersuit. Vance strokes him again, his fingers smooth and gloved, and Morty gasps. He wonders what his hand would feel bare, if he has rough, hard callouses and dry knuckles. “Um… it feels… yeah—”

Vance squeezes his dick and Morty chokes instead. He leans up, feeling brave, pressing his lips into the line where stubble meets smooth skin on Vance’s neck. He kisses it, shyly. He feels Vance’s throat vibrate against his mouth as he laughs.

“You’re gentle,” Vance says, tipping his head down so they’re meeting eyes. His thumb circles over the head of Morty’s cock, and he plays with the foreskin. His glove’s getting wet, Morty thinks, but he’s sure it’s resistant against much worse.

“C-could you…” Morty whispers, and struggles to finish the sentence.

Vance dips his hands under Morty’s dick, palming his balls. Morty moans. Vance is still staring at him when he opens his eyes.

“Could I what?” Vance asks. God, even his voice is handsome.

“Um… t-take off… your gloves,” Morty says, his voice almost fading out into a squeak at the last word. Vance’s fingers tap down his taint. Morty grips his shoulders, surprised.

“Huh,” Vance replies, “Why would you want me to do that, sport?”

“Um,” Morty repeats. He can feel his face going beet red. Vance withdraws his hand and pinches Morty’s cheek.

“Spit it out,” Vance says, though his tone is friendly, encouraging, “Heroes are always straightforward and honest.”

“I-I-I-I think it would—it would feel better, right?” Morty pulls his face away, staring at the bed, mortified at himself. He doesn’t even think that made sense.

“You’re right,” Vance says.

“I… I am?”

“‘Course.” Vance pulls at the fingers of one gloved hand and the material detaches from his undersuit, peeling apart like pre-sliced dough. He takes off the other, dropping them on his vest. “I want to feel you all the way through, too.”

Morty almost curls up and dies when Vance wets his fingers with his tongue, the act so deliberately sexual it’s intimidating. He lowers his hand back to Morty’s body, hand wrapping around his cock. The bare skin and saliva make it feel so much more intense, and Morty grabs for his arm to try to have something to hold onto. He feels like he’s going to fall apart.

“Spread your legs, champ.”

Faltering, he parts his thighs, before Vance’s other hand is pushing them upwards, knee to chest. “Keep your hands under your thighs, okay?” Morty slips his hands beneath to hang on, as Vance rearranges himself between Morty’s legs.

One hand moves under Morty’s thighs, down to squeeze his ass. The other takes his cock again, slowly jacking him off. Morty keens, arching off the bed, trying to keep his eyes open to watch what’s happening. God, he wonders if he’s about to get his first blowjob. He doesn’t know what Vance is going to do to him, and part of him wants to ask, but this is _Vance,_ the leader of the Vindicators. He’s not in a position to question him. Vance has to know what he’s doing.

The hand slips down his cock, rolling his balls in his palm. Morty urges his hips a little higher, his own fingers digging into his thighs. He’d liked Vance touching him there, and he’d never admit it to anyone, but when he jerks off he does the same thing to himself. Ever since Rick had taught him how to smuggle, he hadn’t been opposed to that particular sensation. It just made things more intense, and maybe he kind of likes that intense feeling, that sort of fear of being out of control of his own body.

“You can ask for it, you know,” says Vance. It must have shown on his face. Morty licks his lips.

“Can you— ah… can you t-touch me down there?”

“Down where?” Vance’s fingers press the space behind his balls, and the look on his face makes it obvious he understands, that he wants Morty to ask for it.

Morty swallows, averting his eyes. “Can you, uh— can you tease my butt?”

Vance closes his eyes. His nostrils flare as he breathes in deep. “Fuck.”

“W-w-what?”

“Nothing,” says Vance. He smiles reassuringly. “Of course I’ll play with that— fuck, that sweet little teen ass of yours. Anything for you, Morty.”

Morty’s cock throbs so hard it hurts. _Anything_. He never, ever, not in a million years, ever imagined Vance saying _anything_ for him.

Vance dips his head. Morty yelps; he didn’t expect Vance to use his mouth _there_. His hands start shaking where they’re holding his thighs, sliding from how much he’s sweating. He can feel Vance’s tongue shallowly penetrating him, before flattening out, licking at him. He’s embarrassed, oh God, what if he tastes bad, but it feels so fucking good.

“Ooh, Jesus,” Morty says, “Oh my g—oh my god, Vance—”

Vance pulls away, Morty clenching at the empty space he leaves behind. He kisses the crease where Morty’s thigh meets his hip, then tongues it, dragging his mouth over to Morty’s balls.

“Keep it up,” Vance says, “Just like that.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Morty moans, “H-holy fuck…”

“Soundproof walls,” Vance adds, before he takes the head of Morty’s cock into his mouth.

Morty almost shouts. It’s kinda like that robot, the robot Rick had gotten him at the pawn shop, but softer, warmer— so much warmer. He’d always thought his first blowjob would be from a girl, maybe someone his age, definitely not someone so much older. As if on cue, Vance’s stubble grazes his skin, Morty twitching away from it when it gets near his balls. That, the hard angles of his face, his low groans— that’s what a real man feels like. It keeps going through his head like a mantra.

There’s no doubt about it: Rick would be _so_ pissed. Morty almost wishes the wall would get swallowed in green light, that Rick would just walk in and see them on Morty’s bed, the back of Vance’s perfect head between his legs, not some girl’s, not Jessica’s, _his_. It feels really good, and Vance’s great at it, his thumb circling Morty’s asshole, slipping it inside. He watches Morty with that same sense of genuine interest that makes Morty’s stomach twist.

Not that his stomach has ever stopped twisting, not since Vance sat on the edge of his bed.

He clenches as Vance pushes the thumb deeper inside of him, up to the knuckle, his index and middle finger pressing patterns into the flesh of Morty’s ass. He starts grinding down on it, still trying to fuck up into his mouth at the same time, his body moving without any conscious thought. It’s so much but he still wants more.

Vance bobs his head, taking more of his dick into his mouth. He sucks hard, his cheeks hollowing out, and Morty groans, reaching down to grab Vance’s hair. It’s so thick and soft in his hands, and Vance jerks his head away, pulling his mouth off his cock with a soft pop.

“Don’t mess with the hair, kid,” he says, with a laugh.

“S-sorry, I—”

“Nah, don’t stress. I was thinking we could do something else, anyway.”

He sits back on his haunches, but keeps his thumb slowly pressing in and out of Morty’s ass. Morty’s cock is wet and leaking against his belly, and his skin feels hot all over again. He sits up on his elbows, his feet coming to rest on the bed.

“W-what do you want to do?”

“I was kinda thinking it was my turn.”

Morty’s eyes crease as he realizes what Vance is asking for, and he swallows, nodding. “Ha ha, yeah, I guess it’s only fair, right? So, um, d-do you want—”

“Just relax, champ. I’ll show you the ropes.”

Vance gently pulls his finger out of Morty’s body, moving to sit back at the head of the bed. Morty shuffles forward, getting onto his knees, awkwardly shifting his weight, not sure what to do. Vance slips his fingers under the waistband of his smart suit, the fabric slipping apart in the same way it had done with his gloves. He eases it just low enough for Morty’s mouth to start watering at the sight of his thick, dark pubic hair to pull his cock out, hard and dripping precum in his palm.

His other hand settles at the back of Morty’s neck, pulling him in for another kiss. “Just take it at your own pace, Morty. I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t wanna do.”

“O-okay, sure,” says Morty, slipping downward. He figures, okay, they’ve got the same equipment, even if Vance has a lot more to work with. It was probably easier for Vance to take him in his mouth. Morty gnaws on his bottom lip, inches away from it. Vance smells like cologne down there, too, musky and sharp.

Vance shifts his hips, and his cock taps Morty’s mouth. Morty draws back, startled, then embarrassed as Vance raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Don’t be scared,” Vance says, “Not trying to rush you. Promise.” He cups Morty’s cheek in his palm, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb down Morty’s lips.

“N-no, sorry, sorry,” Morty says, knowing how fucking lame he sounds. He grips Vance’s cock with both hands, more out of shame than actual bravado, like he’s not giving back enough. Vance is obviously better at this, and more confident, and Morty has that nagging sense again, that question that he just can’t seem to wrap his head around and define.

He opens his mouth and lowers it over Vance’s cock. He gags immediately when the taste hits his tongue, struggling to get used to the thickness inside his mouth.

“Oh, God,” Vance groans, bumping his head back against the wall. Morty thinks it looks kind of heroic, Vance’s face in such pure pleasure against the big blue Vindicators logo, like it’s framing him. Morty stares at him, drool coating his own chin, not feeling very heroic himself. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and tries again, slower this time. “Yeah, keep at it, son. Keep… keep at it.”

He opens his mouth and takes the tip of Vance’s cock inside. With his hand around the base, Morty closes his eyes, trying to go off what he’s seen in porn. He knows to cover his teeth with his lips, to use a lot of tongue, but he feels so uncoordinated. Vance’s hand is on the back of his neck, and he keeps saying nice things in these low, soothing tones, but he still worries about doing a good job.

Morty sighs, slipping back to tongue the slit of Vance’s dick. It tastes salty and sharp, there, and he pulls back the foreskin with his hand to taste the ridges. It’s almost a little soapy, and he imagines that Vance cleaned up just for him. His stomach does a little dip, like maybe Vance was planning this, or _waiting_ for him. He wants to feel special but he mostly can’t ignore the weird prickling sensation on the back of his arms, that sort of warning feeling his body gets when Rick drags him into a situation that he’s not sure they’re going to get out of.

His mind wanders. He wonders where Rick is. He wonders what Rick would think of him doing this, on his knees with Vance’s cock in his mouth. If he’d be jealous. For some reason that fills him with an even deeper desire to do well, to impress Vance. Tentatively, he takes him deeper into his mouth, until he feels the tip of his dick graze the back of his throat. He fights with the urge to gag, even as he feels Vance’s hand press down on the back of his neck.

“Oh, fuck, yeah, kid— that’s— you’re doin’ good. So good.”

He’s struggling to breathe, his nose pressed into Vance’s pubic hair. The smell is so concentrated down here, so Morty clenches his eyes shut, doing his best to suck down, keep his mouth moving. Eventually, Vance’s hand slides to his shoulder, pushing him back.

His heart sinks. If he was doing good, why did Vance make him stop? “Wh-what? Why are you—”

“No, no, kid, that was great, that was— but are you up for something else?”

“Something else?” Morty repeats, “Y-you mean…”

Vance pushes him facedown into the bed with one hand, the other spreading Morty’s thighs apart again.

“I just… need to feel you all the way through,” Vance says. “Like I told you. This—” He moves his fingers down so they’re teasing Morty’s asshole again, before he slaps Morty’s ass, “—young… young ass.”

That’s when Morty feels it, clear and sharp— the first real stab of discomfort. It makes itself known, digging deep into his stomach, unmistakable for anything else.

“I-I’m not that young… I’m fourteen.”

Vance laughs at him, like he’s delighted by Morty’s attempt. “Yeah… damn, you are, ain’tcha?” He pushes a finger into Morty’s hole, then another. His spit’s long since dried and there’s resistance this time, resistance that hurts. “You’re just swallowing up my fingers.”

“Ow,” Morty mumbles, unable to help himself, how it sounds childish. He chokes it down, but Vance’s fingers hurt as they draw back out.

“What’s wrong?” Vance asks, like he doesn’t know. Morty feels tears pricking the corners of his eyes all of a sudden. Vance’s face pulls down. “What’s wrong, Morty? I’m having a great time.”

“It’s just— it’s—” There’s a part of him that wants to say stop. That wants to call it off. The other stronger, prouder part of him makes him swallow his words, forcing a smile. “Can you… get it wet? It’s k-kinda dry.”

Vance bites his lower lip, his laugh low and filthy in a way that makes Morty’s toes curl. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to hurt you. That wouldn’t be very good of me, would it?”

He leans lower, and Morty’s dick pulses as he hears the sound of his throat working as he sucks back spit. When he feels the wetness dripping over where Vance’s fingers are holding him open, he breathes out slow, gripping the pillow above his head. He doesn’t know how far he wants this to go. He’s not even sure if he’s brave enough to tell Vance to stop. He’s never even messed around with a girl before and here he is about to go all the way with a man he’s always looked up to.

The fingers slip back inside of him, deeper, curling up inside of him. “Better?”

It does feel better. It feels good. Morty tentatively spreads his thighs further, and Vance leans over his back, gently fucking his fingers inside. He tenses when they hit that spot, burying his face into the bed to try to muffle any wimpy noise that wants to come out.

Vance’s fingers thread through his hair, pulling his head back. “No, kid, let it out. Let me know how good it feels.”

“Vance,” he says, weakly. He can feel Vance’s dick against the cheek of his ass, leaving streaky marks of precum against his skin. He feels nervous, it’s so close, but Vance said he wouldn’t hurt him.

“I’ve never—” stammers Morty. He looks away, feeling self-conscious.

“You’ve never what?” Vance asks, his breath hot against his neck. He’s so close.

“I’ve n-never— neverdonethisbefore,” Morty blurts out.

“Never had a man inside you?”

His voice is so low, so rich and close to his ear. Morty clenches his eyes shut. “Never done this with a-a-anybody.”

Vance’s hand stops moving. He feels Vance shudder over him. “Jesus, Morty. You can’t just say that kind of thing to a man like that.”

Morty’s face is on fire. “O-oh.”

“God, that’s…” Vance scrubs his free hand over the side of his head, then runs it down his face. Morty can see that his cheeks, his neck have turned a splotchy red.

Morty frowns. Did Vance expect him to be experienced at this? He opens his mouth to retort, maybe apologize again, but Vance leans in and kisses him fervently, groaning, the angle awkward. It feels like he’s trying to swallow his mouth.

His fingers fuck deep inside, and Morty cries out into his mouth. Vance pulls them out and Morty feels the head of his dick there, instead. It’s rock hard, but the texture of it is soft, soft and wet. Bigger than just a couple of fingers. Morty takes a deep breath, like he’s bargaining with himself. He’s had bigger.

He’s had much bigger, thanks to Rick’s help.

Vance pushes into him, opening him up with the head of his cock. He moans in pain. It’s still too dry— Rick used so much more lube, not just his own spit, oh god, why’s Morty thinking about Rick spitting on his asshole?— and Vance doesn’t seem to care this time, because his eyes are screwed shut in bliss.

“Mmm-mm, so tight,” Vance groans, “God, Morty, this is… this is truly special, isn’t it?”

The tears return to Morty’s eyes, prickling with intensity. Vance grabs the outside of his knee and pulls it higher up the bed, spreading him farther apart, trying to edge his dick in further.

“W… Vance, w-w-wait,” Morty shakes his head, tries to push up onto one hand, “it hurts, I-I don’t—”

“It’ll feel good in a moment, didn’t I say I wasn’t gonna hurt you?” Vance kisses him again. Morty turns his face away into the sheets, Vance’s mouth sliding across his cheek instead. “Morty. Work with me here.”

“I— please— p-please, just go slow,” Morty says, because he can’t say stop. He doesn’t want to look like he can’t handle it. He can handle a lot.

He feels Vance slip his dick out, his fingers working back into his hole. Vance is almost laying on top of him now, his fingers fucking him open, his mouth wet against the back of his neck. He’s still wearing most of his clothing, and the fabric feels tacky against Morty’s skin, he’s sweating so hard. “Too fuckin’ tight, kid. You sure you’re fourteen? You’ve got the ass of a ten year old.”

It’s like there’s oil in his stomach, his guts twisting. Morty whines high in his throat, pushing back onto the fingers. He feels a loss when Vance takes his fingers out again, and he can feel his cock pushing at his stretched hole.

“Push down against it, Morty, okay, just— yeah, let me in, just— oh, fuck, yeah…”

It hurts. It feels so wide and thick inside of him, and he knows that it’s only the tip. Morty’s hand slips behind his back, pushing his fingers into Vance’s stomach in an effort to slow him. He breathes tightly through clenched teeth as Vance continues to force into him. He can feel his muscles fluttering to adjust to the intrusion, and it hits him, _oh_. Vance is fucking him.

Vance grabs his hand where it’s between their bodies, moving it forward to hold him down to the bed. He can’t even move his leg, Vance trapping it to the mattress with his own heavier thigh. At least he isn’t putting too much of his dick in, but they both groan when the head pops into his asshole, Vance’s fingers tightening around his wrist.

He finally lets go of the base of his dick, his other hand moving up to cup the front of Morty’s throat, holding his head back. Morty closes his eyes, trying not to focus on how intensely Vance is concentrating on his face.

“Look at you,” Vance rasps, his voice strained and low, “You fucking love this, don’t you, kid?” He rocks his hips forward, and even though he doesn’t go that deep, it hurts. “You’ll do anything for your hero, won’t you?”

Morty can’t even speak, Vance’s fingers digging into the front of his throat. His fingers slide up to Morty’s mouth, and he heaves, tasting himself on Vance’s fingers.

“Yeah,” Vance pants, like he’s responding to himself, “I like it when you gag like that.” He pushes his fingers in deeper, like he’s trying to choke Morty with them.

Morty bites him. It’s almost instinctual, like something he’s done tons of times with Rick to get out of a hairy situation. Something forcing itself into his mouth? Bite it.

Vance rips his hand out with a sardonic chuckle. Morty’s horrified.

“S-sorry Vance, I’m—I’m sorry, i-i-it’s— y-y-you were choking me—”

Vance closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “Morty,” he says, like a teacher who’s telling him to be quiet for the fifth time, “I’m going to forgive you for that.” He draws his hips back and thrusts them in again, Morty scrambling over the bedsheets in pain. “Just this one time, okay?”

“Vance,” Morty gasps, “It hurts!”

“I’m not— I’m not gonna go deep, okay, kid? Just try to relax.”

Morty tries. He forces himself to take a deep breath, to just lay there and take it. He feels Vance reach down to his ass once more with the fingers he’d stuck in his mouth, rubbing the saliva around his stretched rim.

True to his word, Vance doesn’t go deep. He keeps his hand around the base of his cock, shallowly fucking into Morty, just enough to feel it. On a stroke inward his cock slips out, the head sliding up the crack of his ass. Vance uses his thumb to hold Morty open, and puts it back in. It goes smoother, this time. It makes his whole body tingle as his hole opens up, his cock twitching where it’s trapped under his body.

“Jesus, it’s like— it’s like you were made for this,” Vance pants in his ear, steadily fucking the head of his cock into Morty’s body.

He doesn’t know how to feel about that, so Morty just moans in response, and his toes curl, his muscles tightening, it’s so thick and full inside of him. It hurts. Maybe he likes that it hurts. He doesn’t know why his body is reacting. Maybe he’s just used to it, used to thinking he deserves it, and it’s like his whole body is splitting apart. He sobs quietly into the bed, blinking through tears, not sure whether to try to get away or push himself backwards. He can’t control himself anymore.

When Vance leans forward to kiss the side of his mouth that’s it for him, his body letting go as he comes untouched against the bed sheets. Vance groans, pushing his forehead against his temple, holding him down, caging him in.

He feels so tight, like he’s being pulled apart, suffocated under Vance’s weight. Vance doesn’t stop, rolling his hips against him, eagerly fucking him as the orgasm rocks through him. He really wants it to stop now, everything hurts, but it’s only fair that Vance gets there, too. He just bites the inside of his cheeks, as Vance licks into his mouth.

He twitches as he feels Vance’s cock slide out again, and oh, God, he doesn’t want it to go back in, he doesn’t want— but Vance pushes up onto one hand, reaching down to force the head back inside. He tightens up, trying to stop it, but Vance forces the head in. “Oh, fuck, kid, oh, Christ—”

It’s wet. He feels Vance come shallowly inside of his body, can feel it running down over his balls. There’s a wet spot beneath him that’s starting to feel cool and slimy, Vance’s hot cum dripping to join the rest pooling underneath him. Vance lets go of his cock and uses his fingers to draw it out of him, before he’s bringing the hand up to Morty’s mouth.

“Look at that, Morty. Look what you— I’ve never come that fast before in my life, I swear. That’s what you did, that’s how—” Vance shudders, brushing his lower lip with one of the fingers coated with his release. “Just have a taste, sport, just—”

He doesn’t want Vance to keep talking, so he just opens his mouth, lets Vance jam his fingers inside. Any trace of his prior gentility is gone, pushing the finger in deep until he’s gagging again. It doesn’t taste as bad as he thought it would, but maybe he just doesn’t care anymore.

He knows better than to bite it, this time, just going limp as Vance digs around, like he’s trying to claw something out of Morty’s throat.

Vance pulls his fingers out and Morty hears him sucking on them noisily. He can’t bear to look.

“Ahh, don’t worry,” Vance says, as he wipes his cock off on Morty’s blanket, “You can get the sheets changed if you ask— this is a full-service ship.” He tucks himself back in, grinning like he doesn’t even consider how horrifying it would be for Morty to have to make up an excuse for the wetness. “You can probably just sleep in your ol’ grandpa’s bed, right? Looks like he’s not coming back tonight, after all.”

Morty rolls over onto his side, towards the window. It seems cruel for Vance to remind him of this. He’s cold, his ass is cold, and Vance cleaned himself up but didn’t bother to extend that to Morty.

“Hey.” Vance’s hand is heavy on his shoulder. “Morty.”

Morty turns his head to look up at Vance.

“I just wanna say,” Vance says, “Since it was your first time… I hope it was as memorable for you as it was for me.”

He stares up at him blithely, the shame settling deep inside of his stomach. He smiles but he’s sure it looks more like a wince. “S-sure, Vance… y-yeah.”

Vance pats him on the head like a small child, gazing at him fondly. “You took it like a real trooper. I’m pretty impressed!”

Morty opens his mouth to respond, but Vance is already turning away, reaching for the pieces of his armor. He stays quiet as he re-dresses, isn’t sure where his pajamas ended up. He just wants to be alone, all of a sudden. There’s an ache inside of him that longs for his grandpa to come back, just for some kind of familiarity, but he’s not sure how he would explain this to Rick. He’d probably just get mad.

“Well,” says Vance, standing tall with all of his Vindicators armor back in place. He looks almost like a different person. Seeing him down to his slippery underlayer, it was almost like taking the magic away, but looking at him like that, a man in armor, it almost makes Morty’s eyes water with envy. “It’s about time for me to go. Need to prepare for the mission.”

“Okay,” says Morty. “Um… I guess I’ll see you out there tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it!” Vance crouches down, down to his level, holding Morty’s shoulders. “You proved yourself here, Morty. Truly, kid. I know you’ve got it in you.” He winks. “Felt it myself.”

He looks into Vance’s eyes and he wants to believe him. Vance is good. Vance is a hero.

Morty smiles, weakly. “Thanks, Vance.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

He stands up, turns, and walks to the door. Taking one last look over his shoulder, he waves. “Night, Morty.”

The door slides shut, and Morty sits in the big, empty room all alone. He wipes his face, his fingers sticking where sweat has dried tacky on his skin. He gets up out of the bed, padding over to the bathroom. Cringing as he feels something running down his inner thighs, he makes a point of cleaning himself up quickly, not wanting to dwell on it too much over what he’s cleaning up.

Back in the bedroom, he puts on his pajamas, the fabric not doing much to comfort him. He takes one look at his bed, frowning at the damp spots that look like they’ve been permanently burned into the narrow twin bed. Morty’s gaze travels to his grandfather’s, empty and still neatly made.

He steps towards it, but falters. What if Rick comes back? He wouldn’t want to risk it. It’s not like he hasn’t slept in worse than his own jizz stained sheets before. Most of Vance’s had been inside him, anyway.

It hits him like a freight train. He’d let Vance come inside of him. He hadn’t even asked about a condom. Do the Vindicators even use condoms? Everything he’s learned in sex-ed doesn’t seem to apply in space. Maybe he’ll have to ask Rick to check him. Mom would ask too many questions if he tried to ask her to take him to the doctor.

He sniffles into his hand. He feels so stupid.

Padding over to his bed, Morty collapses into it, face-down. He feels his own drool against his cheek, then flips the pillow over in disgust. This is his fault, after all.

* * *

At the party, Rick, predictably, gets drunk as fuck again, counting shots against Mom. Morty worries he’s going to run off, but he doesn’t. Turns out he and Mom can barely walk. So Rick comes home with them this time, after the giant rager, after Morty saw bits and pieces of Vance’s body fly around like it was nothing, like he was nothing, like his life never mattered. Like he never fucked Morty.

Summer takes Mom and he takes Rick, the both of them dragging them through the foyer. Summer sighs.

“I’ll put Mom on the couch,” she says, Mom leaning heavily on her, muttering something about cooking dinner. “I’m definitely not dragging her upstairs.”

“O-okay,” Morty says. This means that he’s got to take Rick to his room. He turns and shifts Rick’s arm around his shoulders, keeping him upright as he drags him there.

“I-I-I can walk,” Rick grumbles, belching loudly. He doesn’t even try to push off Morty.

“Y-you know, Rick, you’re really drunk, a-and you were blacked out last night, too,” Morty says, knowing it falls on deaf ears, but telling Rick how he feels is a little cathartic, “I think you need to just— just calm it down.”

“I do—I do great things when I’m druuu _ghhh_ nk,” Rick says, almost slipping off Morty’s shoulder. He holds on tight, gripping Morty’s arm. “I killed—I disbanded the Vindicators, Morty, because I hate them.”

Morty brings him into his room, pushing the door open with his foot. “I know you hate them.”

“I don’t just hate them, Morty, I hate— I hate what they represent. Y-y-you can’t package the idea of ‘good’ Morty, can’t wrap it in a bow and market it to the lowest common denominator without tearing some holes in the—” He belches, and it sounds wet, and Morty rolls his eyes.

“If you throw up on me I’ll drop you on the ground and leave you there, Rick.”

He probably wouldn’t be able to actually do it, but it feels nice to say it.

Rick chuckles, leaning heavily against him. His breath smells like liquor, smells like vomit not yet spilled, but it’s familiar.

“Nice to see you seeing— s-seeing the-the-the truth after all, Morty.”

“The truth?” he says, helping Rick onto his narrow cot. His grandpa sprawls out, and Morty reaches forward to start to turn him onto his side. He’d learned that lesson the hard way— he still wakes up in the night hearing phantom sounds of choking and sputtering. And wouldn’t that be a way for him to go. Rick’s lucky to have him around. At least that’s what he wants to think.

Morty steps back, his hands hanging at his sides. His fingers itch to pull the blankets up, but he just stands there, waiting for an answer he knows won’t come. The truth doesn’t matter. None of this had ever mattered, and it doesn’t matter that he still feels hands on him, still feels Vance’s weight over him. He’ll never feel it again, and no one will know about it, and so it doesn’t matter.

Rick looks up at him lazily, shoving his pillow under his head. He reaches a hand for Morty, gripping him around the wrist, pulling him in closer. Morty goes to him, because he always does.

“Rick…” he mumbles, “I don’t get it.”

He stands there, over his grandfather’s bed. There’s an urge inside of him to crawl under the sheets, hide his face in Rick’s narrow, bony chest. He doesn’t. He doesn’t move an inch. Rick starts to sit up again.

“You see, Morty, y’gotta— you— Jesus Christ, shit’s gettin’—” Rick’s hands go to his head, “—kinda… whoa.”

He’s already preparing for it when Rick’s shoulders pull up, and he covers his mouth. Vomit sprays between his fingers, and Morty’s used to this enough that he steps back, not wanting to be hit. Rick leans over the edge, and Morty’s already moving the bucket he’s permanently stashed beneath the bed, catching the rest of it as Rick heaves out chunks of yellow bile. The room fills with the rancid stench of stomach acid and alcohol, and Morty just sighs, because of course this would be the end to his night.

He presses his hand to his face, trying to calm himself down. He’s angry. Of course he’s angry, he doesn’t have anyone to talk to, he doesn’t— and now he has to deal with _this_.

“Jesus Christ, Rick,” he mutters. He feels so much like an adult and a helpless child at the same time that he wishes he could just lay down on the ground and never get up again.

Rick has the audacity to laugh. “Shit, Mo _ooorugh_ ty— dunno where that came from.”

“Just— just s-stay here while I get something to clean you up.”

He leaves Rick still hacking over the metal bucket, heading to the kitchen. He knows where Mom keeps the kitchen rags, wetting one down and grabbing a few paper towels to dry it up. He pauses, then goes back to grab some Clorox wipes too, for good measure.

He expects Rick to be snoring when he gets back, but Rick is just lying back in bed, arms spread out to his sides. He’s singing something to himself, something that sounds stupid and slurred, though Morty finds it a bit disarming.

He stops and lifts his head when Morty drops the cleaning supplies on the floor and gets down on his hands and knees. Morty doesn’t look back at him, taking the paper towels and sopping up the vomit, splatters of it reaching lengths that had surprised him, once. Nothing surprises him anymore.

“My little— my little— _burgh_ —helper,” Rick mumbles, so quiet that Morty could scrub hard enough to drown it out, “That’s… that’s you, Morty.”

Morty rolls his eyes. “Yeah, obviously, Rick. Y-you don’t see Mom in here, wiping— wiping up your throw-up.”

“Vindicators don’t— they don’t deserve you,” Rick says. Morty stops cleaning and sits back on his heels. He stares at Rick, who has his eyes closed, willing him to say something else, something more. Rick sighs, before he adds, “God, that Alan Rails fuck, w-what a stupid concept, M-Morty. They all— they’re not worth anything but a parody— a filler episode, Morty, if— if they were a TV show, like, like the Justice— _urgh_ —League. Oh Jesus, that one burned.”

“Are you done?” Morty asks, finally.

“Am I done what?”

“I don’t know. Whatever— w-w-whatever _this_ is?”

Rick has no idea what happened back there. Morty’s never going to tell him. His eyes start to water, and he shakes his head, finishing wiping down the floor. He throws the paper towels into the bucket, then takes the cloth and grabs one of Rick’s hands. He’s got puke all through his fingers, dripping down his mouth. It’s like cleaning off an infant. A really tall, mean one.

His grandpa doesn’t answer him, offering his other hand for Morty to clean off. When he gets to his mouth, Rick is looking at him. He avoids his gaze, wiping Rick’s mouth with the cloth. He can feel his breath hot through the fabric.

Morty sits back, the dirty cloth balled up in his hands. He finally meets Rick’s eyes.

“I really don’t matter to you at all, do I?”

Rick doesn’t answer, at first. His breathing comes in horrible shudders.

“You’re— y-y-you’re one in a million, Morty.”

He almost laughs. At least Vance made him feel a little bit special.

He reaches downward, grabbing the bucket, the cloth hanging from his hands. Rick’s already rolled over onto his side, facing the wall, by the time he reaches the door. He takes one last look before he flicks off the light, heading off to the kitchen.

Mom’s snoring in the living room. Summer’s already headed off to bed. Morty stands alone in the kitchen in the darkness, putting the bucket under the tap to rinse. He sniffs and pours the liquid out. He watches it circle the drain.


End file.
